


Soul Laid Bare

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Series: Stripped: Ethan and Dorian [1]
Category: Dorethan, Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Aching for another's touch, Anal Sex, Attraction, Boys Kissing, Come Sharing, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Dancing, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Eyeliner, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, French Kissing, Friends to Lovers, From Sex to Love, Gentle Kissing, Gentleness, Gothic, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Immortality, Invitation, Kissing, Large Cock, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Lipstick stains on cock, Love, M/M, Makeup, Mirror Sex, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Passion, Pining, Poetry, Prologue, Romance, Romantic Gestures, Romanticism, Seduction, Slow Dancing, Talking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, Uncircumcised Penis, Uncut Ethan, Werewolves, victorian gothic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24426247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: “Is that so? You put on your best for little 'ol me?” Ethan questions, testing the other man’s reaction.With a simper ready to twist his perfect lips, Dorian draws close enough for the words to mold into sentiment between them. The tip of his agile muscle darts out to dab at what he's holding so delicately in the curve of his palm.His cheeky reply is just above a sigh. “Oh, darling, if you think this is my best, I assure you that you are gravely mistaken. Now, would you like a taste? I made it my mission to find a liquor the exact shade of your eyes.”Ethan's quickening breath betrays more interest than he'd like to reveal... and yet are they not done with their little game of hide and go seek?“You remembered their hue?”Voice warbling with emotion, Dorian runs a finger down his guest's jawline.“My dearest Ethan, I spent hours forgetting myself in them last night. Are you of the idea their tint isn’t etched into my memory?”
Relationships: Dorethan - Relationship, Ethan Chandler & Dorian Gray, Ethan Chandler/Dorian Gray
Series: Stripped: Ethan and Dorian [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763926
Comments: 25
Kudos: 83





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This first taste is the prologue to the story - penned thoughts about our two lovers. The rating is for the next chapter (I don't want to forget changing it when I post or spoil too much so I shall add more tags later).   
> I'm currently editing the complete tale which will be my second part- coming in the next 3-4 days, perhaps sooner. I want to get it *just* right for you.

Every soul needs love. Craves it. No matter who they are or _what_ they are.

For every heart that beats, there are another that pulses at the same frequency, constantly convincing its keeper that finding that perfect fit… the other half with which to mesh- would make them complete.  
  
It’s a vast world, with an even greater expanse when humanity enters the plot. What would be the odds of coming upon that _one true mate?_  
Logic and arithmetic would say slim to none, but that’s where our figure-minded friends are wrong. For things of this earth hold no power over the magic of love and therein lies its beauty... and its power!  
  
Adoration- passion… both have a way of finding a wrinkle and wriggling their way into the hearts of those who need it most. (Even those that sentient beings are incapable of understanding).  
  
The world turns on its axis and leads destinies to their intended purpose.  
Within these men, these two hollow souls craving the satisfaction of affection, their dark secrets keep them chained to a life of solitude and loneliness. For the time being.   
  
One unable to find slumber in death, forever existing throughout the ages, seeking something more, something to make him feel alive; be it adventure, novelty, spontaneity.   
Sexual conquest.  
The other, cursed with a beast that resides within the depths of his broken pith, changing him from man to monster when the moon is as ripe as his hunger.   
His very nature begs for its next sacrifice- his damned soul weeps the loss it causes.   
  
Both wander, moving from one distraction to the next, seeking someone to call their own, yet braving the despair of loneliness- knowing that their kind will doubtfully find repose from the yearning.  
But this sentiment holds no bias. It sees not with sight or mind, but awakens need with the heart.  
(And oh does that pumping organ follow emotions, not bound to shallow inclinations of the senses!)  
  
The men would meet, in the most unlikely of places, forming a bond that began as a seed, then blooming into something much bigger than themselves.   
Like a rose reaching heavenward into pregnant rainy skies, trying to catch a drop of moisture on its petals- so do their lips thirst for one another’s taste.   
  
Two entities, their truths hidden to the rest, tethered to quench the hunger burning within. Their hearts race in sync, creating a melody that guides the path to what seems is eternity carving out their names.  
Neither leads, nor follows, both intertwine in complete unison, like a dance of two souls perfectly matched to the rhythm dictated by their enchantment.  
For a moment, time stands still, frozen, as they gaze- one into the eyes of the other – revealing what they’d been blinded to until then: each will set the other free.  
  
Once shackled to a life of solitude and darkness, now exuding the very glow that love has bestowed, their presence will glisten under the rays of the sun. Their voices shall be heard throughout the stars of the night; swaying, hand in hand, lost within an unbreakable connection.  
  
Where heartbreak once lived, peace and happiness will find solace.  
Where fear of judgment once ran rampant, the beauty of acceptance shall blossom.  
  
Finding the one thing cleaving together a void within, love; intent on embracing its warmth and splendor, never to let it go, never to let each other go,  
manifesting forever as their hearts dance and echo tales of devotion and infinity.  
  
No greater feeling is there than to find a home long searched for- and to do so in someone so near.   
What once seemed impossible, will be incredibly achievable in the eyes of passion, conquering immortality for one Dorian Gray and quelling the beast that cyclically consumes our dear Mr. Chandler.


	2. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian reclines on the obsidian chaise lounge, every bone in his body screaming opulence and sensuality. An eggshell robe is draped over his form, outlining every angle and curve almost sinfully. A part of the fabric falls off one thin shoulder, exposing luscious pale skin that glitters in the candlelight. His lips are ever so slightly slicked with rouge and dark eyes are made nearly black with kohl.  
> Dorian Gray has stolen Ethan's breath away yet again.  
> _
> 
> Dorian invites Ethan back to the manor the night following their absinthe-fueled tryst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lack of conclusion to this in the series left me with a very bitter taste in my mouth. I've dreamt of fixing it ever since.

Ethan tastes Dorian on his lips when he is roused from sleep. They burn still from their kiss, the one that sings through his veins. The tang of absinthe and desire on the tip of his tongue sends a blinding rush of heated blood from heart to brain. Even more swiftly, then, does it pool between his thighs, where the familiar ache builds.  
Just as the spectacle of the warming lights of day plays about the crests and pinnacles of the London panorama visible from his window, a shaft of light pierces the glass, leaving saffron trails to glow over the floorboards.  
Ethan cups his hand to obscure the glare from his eyes, craning his neck away from the source.  
As soon as he shuts the lids tight, he sees the portrait-lined room in his mind’s eye and hears Isolde’s heartbreaking wails sinking into his soul.  
With it comes, however, a side dish. The stinging memory of Brona’s scathing stare and scalding words, of the monsters within him and without, of everything that hammers great cracks into the very foundation of himself.

With a deep relenting sigh, he conjures Dorian’s exquisite face to chase those demons away. His hypnotizing, inscrutable stare, drawing him in like a siren. The previous evening replays once more… for the fifth time since Ethan dragged himself away from a sleeping Dorian Gray in the dead of night and threw himself into a carriage.  
The urgency that had overpowered him- Dorian the siren and he a weak creature who followed him willingly into a furious storm. His potent hands had curled around Dorian’s creamy throat like an iron collar but when the former had merely worn a direct intent look, unafraid at the possibility of death knocking on his door, Ethan was swept away by that sea of need. He knew that gaze, picked up on the infinitesimal twitch to Dorian’s brow which was disguising a beseech…  
 _Touch me.  
Take me.  
Love me.  
_Ethan understood because he’d drowned in those same waters.

Dorian, unlike he, had not betrayed the slightest surprise at the touch of a man’s lips upon his. It felt…it felt very much like falling off the edge of a great cliff.  
It was a release he had gladly welcomed as the world he’d always known yawned beneath him. He had felt the fissures within him groan as they began to slowly fill with the essence of Dorian Gray. For a few hours, his shrieking soul had quieted. The beast had been tamed. The horrors were kept at bay as he writhed in bed with the most beautiful man he’d ever seen enveloped in his arms.  
There had been no unnecessary words between them, just the frantic need to connect. Two parts becoming one whole.

_Do you ever wish to be someone else?_

He hears Dorian’s voice now, like a true siren song in his ears. Calling out his name over and over again in the thralls of pleasure, the recollection overwhelms him and makes his cock twitch. He feels the kiss of cold metals as Dorian’s ringed fingers singe his skin.  
He smells him. Musk, jade, and myrrh… the scent wrapping around him like a loving embrace, seeping into his own pores to where he can still perceive Dorian on his person now -despite having bathed.  
Last night was, for lack of pretty words, an experience he desperately wishes to repeat. Perhaps for as long as he draws breath.  
_  
  
Her throaty voice rouses Ethan from his trance. He shifts on the chair to loosen the fit of his trousers and clears his throat into a closed fist.  
Ethan’s heart is thrumming, his mind lending him no peace from the loop of last night’s images and sensations playing repeatedly through him. The press of Dorian’s lips… his warm caress as he peels off Ethan’s shirt…  
“Mr. Chandler?” Vanessa is staring, her flinty eyes squinting . “I must assume you haven’t heard a word I’ve just said. Is everything okay?’ Vanessa queries, resplendent in an obsidian dress shot with gold.

“Pard’n me Miss Ives, my mind’s been wanderin’ a lot these days.” And that is an understatement, he muses.

“I wondered how you had fared after Miss Croft took her leave last night. She was in quite a mood, is she all right?” 

At her words, Ethan’s shoulders tighten with a pinch of guilt. Oh, how he had loved Brona, and how she threw that sentiment back at him, spit it in his face.  
He has not gone back to the quarters where Brona resides and in his heart of hearts, he knows she will probably be there no longer.  
He worries for her. She spirals each day, withdrawing further and further away from redemption.  
Not that Ethan had ever been in a position to offer her salvation. He was just another distraction, he guessed. A parentheses within which to pass the time until…  
Now, after last night, it is not Brona but Dorian who shades his thoughts incessantly. He draws Ethan in from afar- more powerfully in absence than if he were physically present.

Vanessa has bent her sooty head, waiting patiently. It’s obvious something brews in the man, and pushing for answers may only tardy them.  
“It vexes me, Miss Ives. I look at her and _know_ there is nothing I can do to make it better. I hold on to hope for her, but she seems content to loosen her grip on it. I fear there is nothing more anyone can do for her.”

“Death makes humble men out of us, Mr. Chandler. Perhaps Miss Croft wishes to be alone in her final moments,” Vanessa murmurs. There’s more clawing under there, she can sense it. But she does not want to pry.

“Well damn her wishes, then,” Ethan snaps, the fire roars in his blood… then it cools just as quickly. “No one deserves to die alone, Miss Ives,” he professes softly. “We die forever when our memories are truly forgotten, lost to nothingness. I can only hope Brona has a change of heart before it is too late.”  
Ethan runs his hands through his chestnut locks, heart hammering at the thought of Brona’s impending passing.

“Sometimes, hope is all we’ve got, Mr. Chandler. Did-”

A knock on the door interrupts them and sighing inwardly, he rises to answer it. His footsteps scuff lightly against the wood, echoing in the near-empty manse.  
Sembene and Sir Malcom have been mysteriously absent from the house since last evening. He opens the front door and squints against the late afternoon sun. Its rays blaze his hair into burnished bronze.  
“Pardon, sir. Are you Ethan Chandler?”  
Perplexed, Ethan nods. “I am.”  
A man holds out an envelope towards him and like smoke, Vanessa appears behind him, a knowing smirk upon her pert lips.  
“A letter for you, Mr. Chandler. Master Gray pays his greetings.”

At the mention of Dorian’s name, all thought of Brona dissipates. A low and pleasant hum heats his blood once more.  
Ethan holds the thick envelope between his fingers as if it were explosive, trying and failing to squelch his elation at the fact that Dorian still thought of him in the aftermath of their time together.  
Vanessa reads the look upon his blushing face as plainly as words on a page.

“Ah,” She murmurs, wagging her chin. “I see. It would seem Master Gray found you most agreeable last night.”

Ethan furrows his brows and coughs. The heat of truth splotches his cheeks.  
He continues to stand there, letter in palm.  
Could it be a genteel rejection, a polite acknowledgment of what occurred, and a promise never to repeat? Could he take it?

“It must be an appreciation letter as regards last night. Master Gray invited me to a…um gentleman’s meeting of sorts.”

She chuckles softly, wiser to men’s whims than he thinks. She’d heard him skulk inside at 5 am.  
Her eyes are as dark and glittery as a summer night. “Meetings with Dorian Gray are rarely gentlemanlike if the rumors about him are to be believed. And an appreciation letter as dense as yours is no appreciation letter, Mr. Chandler.”

Finding the courage within, he tears open the envelope with non-too gentle hands and retrieves the beautiful parchment. Looking up, he catches Vanessa’s curious gaze and cocks an amused eyebrow at her.  
“I-”  
“No need,” she snickers with a lift of her hand. “I shall give you some space.”  
Gliding out of the room, leaving him to peruse the contents of the scented paper, he inhales deeply.  
Citrus and spice, intoxicating. Each time it’s a new scent with Dorian. A new adventure, olfactory… and not.

_My Dearest Ethan, (I pray that after our evening together I may call you that freely?)_

_If you recall last night at all, I revealed I find repetitiousness distasteful. Life is meant to be lived as if one may perish in the next moment. I assumed that once I had a taste of you, it would suffice. I believed, (ease your heart, Ethan, as I thought all these things so erroneously), that I would get used to your touch, memorize the feel of your flesh and the heat of your stiffness inside my own sex.  
I surmised you were a man very much on the cards, though not without some secrets.  
Ethan, last night proved…eye-opening for me to say the least_ _._ _Ridding myself of you has proven to be a herculean task. Your secret, whispered into my ear and into the night, has stilled my being. How could one man be so similar to me and yet so different?  
I’m not one to take on tasks. I woke this morning to sheets empty and cold as November, with only a note left where your body had molded the bedding.  
I dare admit that I despaired. This is not a feeling I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing and I should not like to again.  
Which brings me to this letter. Which brings me to the conclusion to which I came this morning.  
You have gotten under my skin, Ethan Chandler. I cannot stop thinking about you. I cannot cease to crave your lips again- the fullness of your member possessing me is a now a tortuous tease to my body’s memory._

_I shall get right to the heart of it: I very much would like to see you again, Ethan. If you desire it, of course. I am extending an invitation to the Gray Manor this evening. Join me after dinner tonight at 8:00 pm. Just spirits and conversation, (and yet I have other things in mind as well. How naughty of me.) May I also hazard further and say plan on staying the night this time? Do not leave me to awaken again alone- I beg you._

_John, my driver, is on your doorstep. He will wait for your response and should it be in the affirmative, he will be by with the carriage at the earliest time needed to deliver you to me on the hour established._

_Yours,_

_Dorian Gray_

_P.S. You asked me if I ever wanted to be someone else and I replied all the time. Here’s another opportunity, Ethan dearest, for both of us to partake. I can’t force your hand but if I were you, I would accept._

  
Ethan is afire with the need to see Dorian again. His umber eyes peruse the letter, each word like a proxy for Dorian’s searing caresses on his body.  
As he read, it was Dorian’s voice speaking the words. Dorian’s scent wafting up from the paper like an enchantment spell.  
Ethan is more than aware that Dorian is a collector of beautiful things, anyone with half an ear in London would know about the sickeningly wealthy gentleman who has a bit of an obsession with portraits. However, Ethan cannot but think of how delicious it felt to be ‘collected’ last night.  
His eyes are drawn to the letter once more.

_It’s as if he read my mind._

Then again, Dorian Gray is not a man to leave things to chance. A prickling feeling spreads through his core as he reads the letter again from between quivering fingers. They pass over Dorian’s elegant marks as soft as a lover’s touch.  
His eyes snag on the last line and incredulously, he goes right back to the front door and yanks it open.

The same man still lingers there, hands folded in front of him.  
“You must be John,” he says after a moment of silence. The messenger nods quickly.  
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be waiting for my answer?”

Clearing his throat, the driver steps from left foot to right nervously, flitting his gaze from boot to Ethan’s face. “Master Gray expressed his wishes that you not be pressured while you made your decision, sir.”

From behind his fog of want and surprise, Ethan manages to notice that the man almost seems frightened when he speaks of Dorian.  
Most likely the Dorian that slumbered next to him was yet another variation on the Gray theme. “Wha- Just wait here, please,” he stammers uselessly, as if the man would leave without an answer.  
Dashing to Sir Malcom’s office, he rummages across the paper-strewn desk and finds a quill. Scribbling away on the paper, (and making a mess of himself with the china ink in the process) he hurries back to the door where the messenger has not moved an inch from his position.  
He has no idea what he wrote but he knows what he replied is the most important thing: YES. He will attend this evening.

_  
  
Dorian’s ballroom is eerily quiet. It is a far cry from the usual liveliness brought on by the twisting and writhing of naked bodies on the marble floors and the flashes of light as the photographers capture eroticism in its rawest form.  
Not for lack of trying. Those hungry for it had arrived at his doorstep this morning, well into their cups and ready for another wave of debauchery.  
Dorian had merely fixed a cold look upon them and turned them away.

Everything is solemn and still… but Dorian’s mind is not. He misses Ethan.

Swilling a glass of French wine between azure-adorned fingers, he idles on a chaise and resists the urge to fly to the window as the sound of a carriage passing by reaches his ears. It’s John for sure.  
Would it not seem desperate if he ran to the window now? But then again is that not his exact state?   
It clings to him like his cologne water, the yearning, and he does not like it one bit.

“I wonder if we feel the same way Ms. Croft, or do you perhaps feel unworthy as you did that day with me?” He says to the portrait of Brona. The sickness is clear as day on her face, as is the despair and abandon. He felt it as he fucked her, chasing the ever-elusive fire of life that Ethan has now evoked.

How could one man arouse in him such feeling? A mere mortal. He thought himself jaded in the ways of the world and the doings of men. Why, before he drank of Ethan’s lips he thought him as interesting as sawdust.  
And now… Now, Dorian aches with the need to devour everything about him. He craves Ethan almost as if he’s become the very essence of him and Ethan’s now coursing in his veins like life’s blood.  
He wonders if the Westerner was merely playing a part. Almost all who cross his threshold do.   
But what if it wasn’t an act? What if Ethan truly…  
Dorian’s mind is in disarray; his soul echoes the call it’s been shrieking for ages… the only difference is he thinks it’s been answered.  
He hopes it wasn’t just a ruse. Since meeting Ethan he has never felt less hollow.

Indeed… something about this man – about the secret he whispered to him before they tore into each other- unhinged a door he’d barricaded so long ago he can’t ever recall it being open.  
Ethan’s body had risen over his like a vengeful god, drawing cries from his bruised lips that he did not know he could emit so fervently.  
The vast shadow of ennui that had invaded every corner of his soul and drowsed there, yawn and awake, has slipped into the shadows in less than a day.  
Ethan’s eyes had said _Look at me! I see you. Do you see me?  
_ Dorian saw and dear God did he want to uncover more.  
  
His attention flickers around the portrait filled room and Dorian deflates his lungs with a sigh.  
None of them hold the fascination they once did for him. One portrait is missing and terrifyingly, for Dorian, it is the only one that matters.  
To say the least, it has been quite a long twenty-four hours. He’s impatient for Ethan’s arrival as his own demon is not someone with whom he enjoys conversing at length.

_I should have taken him more than once. I should have beseeched him to stay until dawn… with promise of an intimate kiss repeated as I drunk from him greedily.  
Perhaps I wouldn’t be feeling so hungry for more. _

He glances at the letter hastily unfolded on the table next to him. He reaches, and lifts it between his fingertips again, although Dorian has memorized every word of it. A few sloping scrawls, just a handful of lines, and yet they weigh a ton in his hands.  
 _My dearest Dorian,  
I apologize if my script is shaky, but my body quakes. Forgive my candor but I haven’t been able to quit you since I left you. Your voice, your scent… the ghost touch of your silky skin against mine. I can’t erase the vision of you nor forget the press of your lips, gliding against my flesh as they traveled over me.  
I wish the few hours remaining before we are reunited to pass like the shortest winter’s day.  
I accept the invitation, Dorian. (The written… and the unspoken).  
Yours,  
Ethan Chandler  
__  
  
The heavy oak doors swing open smoothly and Dorian sits very still, watching the messenger slip into the room and not far behind him, is he. Ethan.  
Dorian doesn’t betray it but his heart lurches violently in his chest.

“At last, Ethan darling, I thought you’d never come,” he smiles softly, trying and failing to still his racing pulse. 

_Heavens, my hands haven’t felt this moist since I first laid eyes on a naked woman eons ago._

It is the most curious thing. There is nothing new about Ethan’s visage and distractedly, he wonders briefly if the man has ever changed his bowler hat. But somehow, everything about Ethan captivates Dorian this evening. His eyes feel new and unused as they take in his rugged beauty.  
And that’s the most appropriate word for it. Beauty. Ethan Chandler is the definition of beautiful.

They say the eyes are windows to the soul but Ethan’s are like mirrors to Dorian. They reflect the loneliness he feels; their depth harkens to the abyss which pulls him in deeper with each passing dawn.  
Ethan does not wear a mask over the emotions that roil within him the way Dorian does. They are there in his eyes as dark as pitch.

Dorian’s gaze trails down to his hands. Broad and dusted with hair, he can still feel their brand around his throat. On his back. Engulfing his cock.

Ethan does not move. His mouth hangs slightly open at the magnificence before him.

_Surely, there must be something illegal about this man’s appearance._

Dorian reclines on the obsidian chaise lounge, every bone in his body screaming opulence and sensuality. An eggshell robe is draped over his form, outlining every angle and curve almost sinfully. A part of the fabric falls off one thin shoulder, exposing luscious pale skin that glitters in the candlelight. His lips are ever so slightly slicked with rouge and dark eyes are made nearly black with kohl.  
Dorian Gray has stolen Ethan's breath away.

Ethan rallies his wits about him “I’ll admit, I thought this place would be more…lively.” Looking around the empty candlelit ballroom, he takes off his hat and places it on the stand beside him. As soon as his feet feel steady enough, Ethan strides forward.

“You’re quite on the mark, my dearest Ethan. I haven’t had any guests over today. I thought you would appreciate the privacy.”  
Dorian rises on a breathy sigh to meet him and with the way the airy fabric clings to his body, Ethan _knows_ there is nothing underneath. The outline of his semi-hard sex is distinct.  
He swallows. Hard.

_Christ on a crutch. Does he mean to relieve me of my senses completely?_

Ethan gestures around the room at the portraits, studiously averting his eyes from Dorian’s near incandescent form and from what continues to blossom below.

“Dorian Gray and privacy, quite paradoxical don’t you think? Then again, you are a man of endless surprises.”

“It was my wish to meet your pleasures, darling.” The words accelerate the crescendo of desire within Ethan.

Dorian travels to the small table where decanters of wine sit.  
“I have something for you.” Dorian mixes drinks with the surety of one who possesses vast experience. “The French call this _Tremblement de Terre._ The Earthquake Cocktail. They advise caution in its ingestion but I deem it perfect for this occasion.”

“There isn’t any Absinthe in that, is there?” Ethan queries cautiously, a smile upon his lips. Dorian is immediately a flash of pearlescent teeth in return.

“Why my dearest Ethan, are you still recovering from last night? Not to worry, I’ve put my twist in this, like all things.”

Ethan colors, red and warm. Much like Dorian’s lips, he thinks. Dorian appears so put together, so sure of himself that for a second, Ethan wishes to crack his inscrutable demeanor.

He reaches out a hand unconsciously and tilts Dorian’s face to his. He is so close he can see the golden flecks in his eyes.  
“You look breathtaking tonight. Is there some other guest we’re expecting?” he says almost with a tinge of jealousy as he steps back. If only to restrain himself from claiming his lips, he puts distance between them.

“Just you,” Dorian whispers. “ _I only want you, Ethan_.” It is the truth, and its verity wrings something inside Dorian’s being.

 _Heavenly Father._ It’s not what Dorian just said so much, (well, also)… but the way he did so. The utter yearning thickening his voice and the butterfly flutter to his impossibly long lashes.  
Ethan is gone for him.  
“Is that so? You put on your best for little 'ol me?” Ethan questions, testing the other man’s reaction in an attempt to divert attention from his racing mind.

With a simper ready to twist his perfectly rouged lips, Dorian draws close enough for the words to mold into sentiment between them. The tip of his agile muscle darts out to dab at what he's holding so delicately in the curve of his palm.  
His cheeky reply is just above a sigh.

“Oh, darling, if you think this is my best, I assure you that you are gravely mistaken. Now, would you like a taste? I made it my mission to find a liquor the exact shade of your eyes.”

Ethan's quickening pulse betrays more interest than he'd like to reveal... and yet are they not done with their little game of hide and seek?

“You remembered their hue?”

Voice warbling with emotion, Dorian runs a finger down his guest's jawline. “My dearest Ethan, I spent hours forgetting myself in them last night. Are you of the idea their tint isn’t etched into my memory for all eternity?”

Ethan is unable to wrench his gaze away. He flattens down a tuft of his unruly hair.  
“I am of the idea that a great many things are etched into your memory. You did call me a rude, mechanical, rugged westerner after all so you must have been paying some attention,” Ethan murmurs.  
He stares into the wine glass, hypnotized by its swirling hazel depths. He takes it from Dorian and lets out a soft breath at the tingles that run up his arm when their fingers brush each other. “But I only jest.”

Dorian watches him as he lifts the glass to his full lips, and Dorian wishes he were the rim.  
His gaze is soft, almost encouraging… with a hint of envy as Ethan moans when the liquor hits his tongue. It is heady and rich with a subtle bitterness he knows is from the absinthe.

_What could Dorian Gray possibly be envious about? He’s got everything. And now he’s got me._

_“_ There’s little I do not pay attention to, Ethan Chandler. Humans are such unique creatures.”

“You speak this way because you’ve lived a thousand lifetimes.”  
Ethan takes another swig and winces as the liqueur sets his nerve endings aflame.  
Would he set Dorian ablaze if he touched him again?

“Haven’t we all, my little wolf? We could live a thousand lifetimes in the space of a minute, it all depends on what we perceive as _living._ Most people pass 70 years on the Earth and haven’t lived one day.’

Ethan lets out an exhale, long and deep. “What do you desire, Dorian Gray? Do you desire me?”  
Dear God let me give you my life, Dorian… Ethan silently prays.

Dorian places a soft palm upon Ethan’s flushed cheek. It feels like sandpaper, roughened by the wiry beard that coats his jaw. He knows of this – of how it grates the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs when Ethan bobs there while-  
“My dear, sweet Ethan. Last night you kissed me like a drowning man in dire need of air.”  
A small movement of his hand draws the werewolf in and Dorian plants a challenge in his eyes. He does not know why, but he is of the suggestion that Ethan is a man who would appreciate challenges. “You ask what I want of you? I ask only that you do it again. Just for longer. I don’t intend to let you go this evening having had you just once.”

Ethan sweeps his tongue across his parched lips, his dimpled cheeks stretching into a grin. “Is that a challenge, Dorian?”

“That would depend on whether you were drowning or not,” Dorian says with feeling, fixing his eyes on his mouth. “But it is. Do you have the stamina to fuck me all night?”

Jesus Hell. If his sex wasn’t throbbing before, it is now. The werewolf searches veiled eyes that seem to reveal nothing and absorb everything. Dorian’s are as murky as a bog’s.  
“I _was_ drowning last night. But now, looking at you, I’m not so sure I am anymore. You may have just dragged me ashore, Dorian.”  
Unable to resist anymore, nor willing to, he slants his lips across Dorian’s.  
“ _And trust me… I have the stamina to fuck you into next week_.”  
“Ah, how I’ve longed for this,” Dorian exhales into his soft, eager mouth.

He is falling again, losing himself in the taste and scent of Dorian Gray. That familiar feeling of release floods his body and puts a lull in the incessant howling of his subconscious.  
The hints of alcohol and lavender invade his tongue, leaving him screaming for more. Dorian pushes ravenous fingers through his long hair, scraping at his scalp and sending minute sparks of energy running through his body.  
He feels warm and limber and everything is deliciously _right._ Dorian’s cock is right there, only a sheath of silk covering its hardness.  
But it’s not time yet. He doesn’t want to appear needy.

Dorian whimpers. It’s a sound of satisfaction and he presses closer, making sure to fit his cock into the space between Ethan’s and his hip.  
 _Feel how much I want you_ it screams.  
The immortal remembers he called him a mechanical westerner but there is nothing mechanical about the way Ethan Chandler kisses and touches him again. It is almost an homage.  
A delicate, gentle caress, a far cry from the feverish meeting of lips and teeth and tongue the evening before.  
They stay this way for several moments, the atmosphere thick with the scent of lust and intent. The world is muted, as if they were both truly underwater, only that he doesn’t fight for breath because he doesn’t need it.  
Ethan is his air and he takes him greedily.

 _I cannot remember anyone who has made me feel this way before._ Dorian is fully his. His vale liquid eyes swear to memorize every part of him.  
Ethan penetrates the mist in his gaze and pins him with a feral look. A wolf in heat.  
He will have his prey. He will possess him again.

They separate and Dorian sucks his tingling lower lip into his mouth as if to retain Ethan’s taste. He smiles at the scarlet smear around the man’s mouth and gently swipes a long finger at it, pressing his thumb against the thick of his bottom lip.  
A pleased gasp escapes him as Ethan’s tongue darts out to flick at his finger and suck it into his mouth.  
Ethan’s cock is rock hard in his trousers. He uses Dorian’s finger as proxy, swirling his muscle over it, before releasing it with a reluctant hum.

Heavens beware, Dorian thinks.  
“Dance with me, Ethan,” his breathy voice catches with emotion. Ethan is a breathtaking sight in mussed hair and ruby smudged lips.  
The man’s eyes widen at the implied question.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer, darlin,” Ethan admits, the color of protest suffusing his face.

“You’re in luck then, for I’m very much a dancer. This is another chance to be someone else, isn’t it?” Dorian smiles playfully and draws him toward the middle of the ballroom. His bare feet slap against the cold floor softly until they’re beneath the chandelier.

“It’s your risk,” Ethan laughs as he grasps Dorian’s hand.

“We shall make a dancer of you yet, Ethan.”

“Well, if you don’t mind crushed toes and stinging embarrassment then I’m willin’.”

“You’ll find that I’m a hard man to hurt, Mr. Chandler.”

Ethan fulfills his promises a few times and within minutes, Dorian’s feet are well and truly pieces of mash. The room is lit up with the sounds of hushed laughter, murmured direction, and hasty apologies, and then… finally, they find their rhythm.

“Is this Wagner again?” Ethan’s mouth speaks into Dorian’s hair, his hands are a band around the latter’s waist as they sway to the smooth, sensual notes that waft around the room and envelope the two like a promise.

“Brahms, it’s his Violin Sonata. Bittersweet isn’t it?”

Ethan bends his head, his eyes tripped up on the sharp angles of Dorian’s face. The hand that rests on his hip burns a hot spot in the pit of his belly.  
“I’d say more bitter than sweet. Have you an obsession with heartbreak, Dorian?”  
Ethan twirls him around, pleased at his gleaming stare and drawing him near once more. He does not know much about such things but he lets the music wash over his tired bones, sinking willingly into Dorian’s arms. Content for the moment, even though he knows he probably deserves none of it.

“There is heartbreak in every facet of our lives, don’t you think Ethan? It begins from the very moment we hear a firm ‘No’ and it ends when we die.”  
Dorian shakes his head, the strands of his hair brush against Ethan’s lips like flower petals falling in a breeze. “Even then it doesn’t end. And we feel every bit of it, deeply and surely.”

Ethan leans back to capture a glimpse of him, every cell in his body enamored of him. Dorian’s eyes are old as time, too old for his incredibly young body. It is unbearable for Ethan to think of the pain he’s been through, so he kisses him again, soft and sweet like affection you’d give a child.

“A curse, that is.”

“Some would say a blessing, Ethan. It is a blessing to feel things, good or bad.”  
Dorian is breathless, cheeks pinkened from the caress, and their little waltz has stirred things within which were previously unknown to him.

Like a match struck near a barrel of oil, Ethan’s restraint goes up in flames. In a single swift motion, he sweeps Dorian into his arms and in the direction of where he remembers he was led last night, takes him to the bedroom, stealing kisses the entire way there.

The room is beyond beautiful, just like he recalls. A testament to the rich tastes and vast wealth of Dorian Gray. Thick red velvet curtains shield wide windows, the enormous expanse of the bed covered in dark satin sheets sits empty until Ethan sinks into it with Dorian in his arms.

Ethan hesitates. Seeks consent again, even though he knows he has it.

“I want you, Ethan.” Dorian sets his hot palms on either side of Ethan’s earnest, haunted face. He smells of need and lavender soap, just like last night. Dorian loosens the buttons of his lover’s grey shirt, one after the other with deliberate movements.

Brona’s face flashes before Ethan’s eyes. Sadness true to her name, scorn, and dismissal. Everything that is not in Dorian’s face right now. Here he feels like home.

“Take me Ethan Chandler. I beg you. Be mine.”  
Dorian isn’t one to beg _for anything._  
Closing his mind to one pathway in his life, Ethan ventures down another. He loosens his grip from Dorian’s hips and shrugs away the waistcoat and shirt, revealing an impressive physique. He doffs that too at Dorian’s nod. Ivory tinted muscles hewed from combat and labor flex and ripple, drawing Dorian’s hungry gaze. Last night the events had transpired so quickly Dorian hadn’t had the occasion to enjoy the view. 

“All these scars,” he ghosts over them with a trembling fingertip. “You’ve had quite a hard life, haven’t you?” Dorian croons.  
Now that he isn’t completely blind with lust, he is well and truly able to appreciate Ethan’s glorious body. He trails his fingers over angry, raised slashes of skin, pleased at the sight of gooseflesh dimpling his skin at his caress.

“I can only look forward,” Ethan’s mouth is dry, starved for him. He catches Dorian in his potent arms, keeps him close, and closes his mouth over his in a possessive gesture.  
They fit like two puzzle pieces, clinging to each other desperately. But just a kiss is not enough anymore- both desire more.

Dorian moans as cool air breathes over his skin when Ethan drags down his robe inch by devastating inch. He sighs as his belt comes loose and with a delicate shrug, the silk slips off and pools around his body.

Ethan indescribably hardens to full length at the sight of Dorian in candlelight. He calls to mind a lustful deity rising from a sea of shiny fabric. Dorian wraps his legs around Ethan’s waist and grinds against the swelling in his trousers, drawing a tortured groan from his lips.

“Ah, you beautiful creature,” Ethan rumbles. He’s intoxicated, his veins like that fine liquor he just drank.  
Dorian continues to buck against him, Ethan’s hot stare warming his flesh. He shivers in anticipation.

Ethan shifts them upward and leans their weight against the bedpost, and with a tug of his hands, the curtains fall around the bed, enclosing them in their little world. Maybe they could stay this way forever, Dorian thinks against the incandescence of Ethan’s cock.  
Two broken things, leaking loneliness and desperation, needing the company of the other to lay their sorrows at their feet.

What a pair. They have truly found one another.

Ethan shuts his eyes to revel in the pleasure Dorian wreaks upon his body. Dorian brushes his lips against the throbbing pulse in Ethan's throat, the rush of the kiss sending jolts of sensation sliding over his skin.  
Dorian trails his muscle downward, and closes his teeth on the man’s exposed nipple.

“You said I could have my way with you,” Ethan pants softly. “Did you mean that?”

“Anything you want, darling; I assure you I can provide. I’m yours, Ethan, do you not understand that?” There is no annoyance in his tone. He’s simply stating fact.

“Then…” He sits up, resting his rouge-smeared lips against Dorian’s ears and the latter shivers at the contact.  
“My dearest Dorian, I want your lips to paint my cock in their red hue,” he whispers huskily.

Dorian all but groans at the suggestion, his sex bleeding against his thigh, coaxing him to respond. His voice sticks in his throat at the provocation and his eyes dusk midnight.  
Dorian grins wickedly and places a chaste kiss upon Ethan’s lips as he slides down to do quite the opposite.

“I thought you would never ask, darling.” Deliberately slow, his hands tug at the fastenings of Ethan’s breeches and he hisses softly as Dorian draws them away, freeing his engorged stiffness from its confines. He gleams with surprised pleasure at the absence of leggings beneath Ethan’s trousers and slides the material over his legs with leisurely movements, discarding them to the side once they’re off.

At the sensation of familiar hands on his cock, Ethan’s eyes jerk open and he comes face to face with himself. And Dorian. High above the bed, embedded into the ceiling, is a looking glass.  
He lets out a startled sound.

“How on earth did you get a mirror up there?” He asks incredulously and lets out a yelp when Dorian tightens his grip. The tip leaks in protest as hot prickles scatter over his body.

“I was wondering when you’d notice it. I had that installed quite a while ago.”

“Why?” He doesn’t mind it. Not at all.

“There’s nothing more erotic than watching yourself partake in the pleasures of the flesh, sweetheart.” Dorian swirls his tongue over the glistening tip as he unfurls the foreskin. Ethan nearly spills his seed at the sight of their bodies writhing.

“I’ll say it again, you’re quite out of the ordinary, Dorian Gray.” A low moan escapes out between clenched teeth when Dorian swallows him.

Ethan darts his focus down and grips the sheets tightly at the sight of his scarlet smudged length.  
 _Jesus Christ!  
_ Dorian is rubbing his lips along it with purpose and stroking him firmly but lazily.  
This is a tease.  
Maintaining eye contact with Ethan, he grins as he envelopes him in his mouth, so deep Ethan is ready to let go and Dorian’s eyes stream ink.

Velvet strokes of his tongue and the pressure from his sucking builds in Ethan like a wave against a crag. The walls of his self-control crumble.  
Ethan throws his dark head back at the impending crash, bucking fiercely against Dorian’s devilishly perfect mouth. It rises and rises with each slide inside. Ethan becomes bunched muscles and clenched teeth until the waves topple over, washing over him and drenching him in a mind-numbing release.  
“Dorian!”

Dorian laps up every bit of his lost control, swallows it all with promise. He rises and hovers over him, licking his crimson-smeared lips in satisfaction. At his tear-streaked look, Ethan begins to harden again.  
Sweat covers them in light sheen, turning them into gold glitter in the candlelight.

“You are so beautiful,” Ethan marvels and pushes himself up on his arms to take Dorian’s lips. He tastes himself on his tongue and growls.  
He only wants more.

Ethan flips their positions and divests Dorian of his robe. Breathless, he takes him in slowly, like a man whose petitions have been answered. He worships Dorian’s body with his eyes, his hands, his tongue. His name a prayer on his lips. He plants teasing caresses all over him until the immortal is flushed with pleasure.  
“I see centuries in your eyes, Dorian,” he barely manages to utter.  
“Empty times until I found you, my love. I fear I found the one man able to tame me.”  
  
“I… I think I’m falling in love with you, Dorian.” Here is my heart, Dorian. Do with it what you will.  
He said it. He meant it. And Ethan doesn’t regret it.  
The aching contact of their bodies… the survey of their longing stares… Dorian isn’t surprised because he feels the same- he is ready to surrender to him. His own eyes smolder and Ethan’s hooded gaze speaks to him.

“Make love to me, Ethan. I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me, darling. I want no other but you.” Dorian licks his bruised mouth in invitation, the memories of their first night together flooding back, and the anticipation of what they’re about to do making a breath doused in pure desire leave his mouth.  
Ethan lifts Dorian’s slim legs over his shoulder, caresses his opening with oil-slicked fingers, the bottle still sitting at the bedside.  
  
“Dorian, I’m-“  
“Hush, my love. I’m ready. Take me.”  
Ethan slides into him, smooth and tender. Not roughly like yesterday.  
They stay still for a moment, frozen in the feeling of being joined together once again. Dorian adjusts to his girth but soon enough craves more. It is he who moves first, gripping Ethan’s nape and backing into him to fill himself completely.  
Their eyes are prisoners of each other and within them is a realization. A realization of hope and the true melody of their souls. They were bound to each other from that… from the moment of their joining, two sides of the same coin. No longer alone, sharing their uniqueness and providing soothing comfort for the wear in their darkened hearts.

The spell is broken when the grandfather clock chimes midnight and at Dorian’s mewl of impatience, Ethan begins to rock harder against him, savoring every thrust.

“Dorian,” Ethan breathes the name with each stroke, digging clawed fingers into his soft supple skin. His muscles draw taut with each gasp and moan that falls from Dorian’s lips and his lunges grow more frequent.

“Come with me, my love,” Dorian is achingly swollen against Ethan’s belly and each jerk of his body thickens him even more. Wrapping his arms around Ethan’s neck, he pulls him forward and fits their mouths together in a drugging kiss. “I’m so close…”  
Friction and feeling build bricks of pleasure between them, piling them higher and higher until with a sharp cry, Dorian can no longer hold back.  
Ethan’s hand milks the release from his cock, and as it coats their abdomens, the dark hair tapered to a V on Ethan’s groin splattered with creamy seed, Dorian allows himself to come apart. Clawing red lines down Ethan’s broad back, shuddering as the orgasm wracks his body, he screams his lover’s name.  
“Ethan! I’m coming Ethan!”  
A few more flicks of his hips and the wolf growls his own release, quieting the monster that wrestles against the confines of his skin for one more day.  
His spend fills Dorian so copiously rivulets of it escape from around his sex and mark the sheet beneath them.  
  
“Dorian-” their foreheads touch as they calm their breathing. Neither has ever felt such closeness before.

With euphoria running like fire through his veins, they finally break apart. Dorian burrows into the space Ethan’s arms have made and curls up against him, watching his hairy chest rise and fall with great depth.

“I found you, darling.” He murmurs sleepily. Content for what must be the first time in his seemingly endless life, he latches onto him. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go now.”  
“Who said I would want to be anywhere else, Dorian?” Ethan drops a moist kiss onto his damp forehead and tightens his hold around him.  
“You’re the only person to have ever shackled the beast inside me. If that isn’t worth a lifetime with you, I don’t know what is. I’m afraid you’re just as stuck with me, Dorian Gray.”

For the first time in their existences, they willingly fall into oblivion… together.  
“I assure you, life with me will never be boring, Ethan… or disappointing. I will make it my job to keep you guessing.” His breath escapes soft and moist, a sinless sound... a thing almost as pure as his confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are most welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you may read have my Frankethans. Though those boys are a favorite of mine I've been playing with the idea to this story for a while now and I'm excited to have finally written it. Hope you enjoy this little nugget and especially the next installment.   
> Feel free to check out my other stories as well if you're not married to this pairing. :) Kudos and comments are not only very appreciated, but if you feel so inclined... encouraged! I love to engage with my readers.


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